How the West Was Weird, Vol. 2 Read online

  How the West Was Weird, Volume II

  Twenty More Tales from the Weird, Wild West

  Edited by Russ Anderson, Jr.

  Copyright 2011 Russ Anderson, Jr..

  Individual stories are copyright their respective authors.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Front cover art by Jim Rugg

  Cover design by Tamas Jakab

  http://www.pulpworkpress.com

  These are works of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in these stories are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  This book is available in print at most online retailers.

  For Jasmine and Trelina, who missed out on a lot of daddy/hubby time during the making of this book - and only complained a little.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DESOLATION

  by Barry Reese

  THE RAG DOLL KID

  by David Boop

  THEY CALL HIM PAT

  by Ian Taylor

  THE LOST VALE

  by Joel Jenkins

  THE YELLOW DOG

  by Ron Fortier

  MR. BRASS AND THE DEVIL'S TEETH

  by Josh Reynolds

  THUNDER PURSUED

  by Thomas Deja

  WALKER ON THE WIND

  by Desmond Reddick

  THE VELVET SCOURGE

  by Grahm Eberhardt

  THE DEMON WRESTLER

  by Dale W. Glaser

  TELL ME YOU LOVE ME AND THAT'LL BE AN END TO IT

  by Ian Mileham

  UNHALLOWED GROUND

  by Stacy Dooks

  TRAIN COMES A-BURNIN'

  by Mark Bousquet

  THE WITCH HOLE

  by Matthew P. Mayo

  THE TESTIMONY OF CONSTABLE FRASER

  by Kevin Thornton

  RAID AT RAZORFANG RANCH

  by David Golightly

  WEST OF FORT SMITH

  by Tommy Hancock

  BEAST OF THE BLACK HILLS

  by Tony Wilson

  STORMS OF BLOOD AND SNOW

  by Derrick Ferguson

  TERROR IN TOYLAND

  by Mike McGee

  DESOLATION

  by Barry Reese

  1873.

  The fires lit up the night sky and the stench of burning flesh made Lucas Johnson flare his nostrils. Illuminated as he was by the flames, Lucas looked like a demon that had crawled out of hell, with six-guns at his side. He stood a little over six feet tall, with gray eyes and a battered hat. His face might have been handsome, had it not been for a trio of scars that ran from just under his left eye all the way down to the right side of his chin. They were a parting gift from a whore in Tucson, a reminder that Lucas should never try and short-change a working woman.

  “There’s still one more,” Nancy said. Lucas glanced over at his sister, who wore her nun’s habit with pride. She was a lovely woman and Lucas sometimes thought it a shame that she’d given her life over to God. Nancy would have made some man awful happy if she’d gone the usual route of being a wife. Then again, with Nancy’s gifts, there was no way she’d ever be able to settle for a white picket fence and a ranch to call her own.

  Lucas took out his pistol and made sure he had a couple of bullets left in the chamber. He was running low but he knew that there was another town not more than thirty miles from here. He’d restock when he got the chance. Until then, he had more than enough to get the job done. “Man or woman?” he asked, his voice gruff from breathing in too much smoke and dirt.

  “A child.” If Nancy felt any regret over that fact, she hid it well. She walked through the flaming ruins of Hope, Texas with a cold expression on her pretty face. Lucas followed her, knowing she’d lead him where he needed to go. He trusted her and always had, from the moment she’d sprang forth from their mother’s womb. He was six years older than his sister, but in all the important ways, she was the elder.

  They found the little boy huddled in the back of the general store. He looked to be about eleven years old but Lucas knew that it was impossible to be sure. You sure as hell couldn’t ask it – the little things were liars, through and through.

  The boy looked up through tear-streaked eyes. The emotion on his face would have been enough to melt the heart of most men, but not Lucas. He was made of sterner stuff. “Please, mister. Just let me live. I won’t tell nobody.”

  Lucas glanced at his sister, who had turned her head away from them. She was staring off into space, already listening to the voices only she could hear, telling her where they should go next. Lucas sighed and pointed his pistol at the monster that wore a boy’s face. “Can’t be done,” he said. “And you know it. Do you really think I’d kill everybody in this whole town, just to let one of you bastards live?”

  “But I ain’t done nothin’, mister.” The boy sniffled loudly. “Please.”

  Lucas chewed the inside of his lip and looked once more at his sister. “Nancy? You got anything to say here?”

  From beneath her nun’s habit, Nancy turned narrowed eyes upon the boy. “He wears this guise to try and weaken you. But God has given me the Second Sight so that I might look past the lies of the Devil. This boy is a demon. A monster. An ugly little creature who wants only to rape, lie and steal. Do the Lord’s work, brother.”

  Lucas relaxed, feeling better now that his sister had pronounced her verdict. He pulled the trigger twice, using both bullets even though only one was really needed. At this range, he placed both slugs deep into the demon’s head, splattering blood and brains all over the bags of grain.

  After putting his pistol away, Lucas stared down at the remains of the demon’s body. Even in death, their lies remained in place. The corpse did not revert to its true form, but remained as it had appeared in life. If Lucas hadn’t known better, he’d have thought that he had just killed an innocent youth.

  “We need to be on our way.”

  Lucas nodded, knowing his sister was right. The flames were bright enough that somebody would be coming from the neighboring areas to investigate. “We did good here,” he muttered, taking out a cigarette that he’d rolled earlier. He struck a match against his boot and then lit the tobacco.

  “Yes. God is pleased,” Nancy said. She smiled softly and it reminded Lucas of how she’d been as a little girl, before the visions and the voices. There had been a time when her laughter had rung out often and loudly.

  Lucas let Nancy take his hand, enjoying the softness of her skin against his callused palm. They moved to their waiting horses together, patting the animals reassuringly.

  “What’s the name of the town east of here?” Nancy asked.

  Lucas helped her into her saddle and then mounted his own steed. “Desolation.”

  Nancy nodded, closing her eyes for moment. She said the name of the town, as if letting her tongue and lips taste it: “Desolation.”

  Desolation lived up to its name. The town was small and had been built in the center of a harsh, rocky field that contained only a single tree – and that one looked like it had barely survived the last few thunderstorms. The grass that grew was more like weeds and was a dull brown in color, with the barest hint of green at the tips. There were seven houses in total, a small general store/bank, a tiny building with a “Sheriff Wanted” sign hung on the front porch, and a saloon by the name of Dusty’s.

  The few people who were out in the street all stopped and stared as Lucas and Nancy rode into town. Th
e scarred gunslinger and the beautiful nun were an unusual sight, to be sure. They stopped in front of the saloon and Lucas tied up their horses, ignoring the men and women who watched them.

  “You want to wet your whistle?” Lucas asked his sister and she nodded. It had been a long, thirsty ride and both of them were parched. “Let’s go in and get us a drink, then. Once you’re situated, I’ll head over to the store and see if they’ve got a case of bullets.”

  “Better make it two,” Nancy warned. “I have a feeling that there’s more danger ahead.”

  “But none here, right?”

  Nancy shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She cast her eyes slowly around at the townspeople, most of them nodded and smiled at her appraisal. Many of them had begun to return to their tasks, having decided that the strangers were nothing all that special. “But you never can be too sure.”

  Lucas silently agreed with that. Over the years, he’d been shocked at how many demons were loose in the world. It seemed that every time he thought things were slowing down, Nancy would find another nest that needed rooting out. It had become a hard road, but it wasn’t one that Lucas would have traded. It wasn’t that he enjoyed the killing, it was more that he loved his sister and didn’t want her being on her own.

  The saloon was basically one big room with a bar set up in the back. There were four round tables in the center and a handful of people sat at three of them. There were two women to be seen and from the slit in their skirts and the world-weary look in their eyes, they were obviously more than simple waitresses. They both regarded Lucas with curiosity but neither made a move to intercept him as he ambled towards the bar. Lucas wasn’t sure if their lack of interest stemmed more from his scars or from the fact that he'd walked in alongside a nun.

  The old man behind the bar was busily cleaning its surface with a filthy rag. “What can I get fer ye?” he asked with forced enthusiasm.

  “A clean glass of water for the lady and a whiskey for me,” Lucas answered. He dug in his pocket and dropped a few coins on the counter.

  “Can do. You folks just passing through or looking to stay a spell?”

  “Didn’t see any hotels,” Lucas muttered. “So I guess we’ll be passing through.”

  The bartender set two glasses in front of them and quickly poured some whiskey into one of them. The other he filled from a pitcher of water he kept under the counter. “Well, there’s a widow who sometimes rents out a couple of rooms in her house. I could point you folks in that direction if you wanted.”

  Lucas downed the whiskey in one shot. As the burning liquid rushed down his throat, he shrugged his shoulders and turned away from the bartender. The saloon patrons weren’t paying them much attention. They were a morose lot, staring into their drinks or occasionally pawing at one of the whores.

  Desolation was just like a hundred other towns that Lucas had been to. There were booming places on the frontier, to be sure… but there were also dozens of small groupings of humanity, where men and women huddled together until they all died or finally moved on. People back East didn’t really understand what it was like out here, Lucas believed. You could see that whenever a well-dressed man and his wife stepped off a stagecoach, having come from New York or Boston with visions of easy wealth and a new life shining in their eyes.

  “Want another?” the bartender asked and at a nod from Lucas, he refilled the shot glass.

  Nancy sipped her water, softly humming a church hymn. “I’d like to stay here a day or two,” she said at last. “It’s been ages since I took a bath.”

  Lucas said nothing. It wasn’t required. They both knew they’d abide by what Nancy chose for them.

  When Lucas had polished off three shots of whiskey, he turned to his sister and said, “You wait here while I buy some supplies. I’ll see if I can’t find the widow while I’m at it.”

  Nancy nodded. She leaned in close and her lips brushed her brother’s cheek. “You’re a good man, Lucas. I’m sorry that I’ve made this your lot in life. Sometimes I wish it weren’t so. “

  Lucas stiffened in surprise. He’d never heard Nancy talk like this. The toll her powers had put upon both of them was obvious enough and they never discussed it aloud. “We’re family,” he mumbled gruffly. “Blood’s thicker than anything.”

  “Maybe not as thick as this water is,” Nancy said, swirling the liquid around in her glass.

  Lucas grunted in amusement. He strode back into the heat and adjusted his hat. He found that a heavyset woman with a malformed right hand manned the store. She had no thumb and the other four fingers were melded together in two places, making it look like a claw of some kind. The store smelled of sweat and piss but the goods looked relatively fresh so he bought what he could and refilled his stash of bullets. The entire time the woman said nothing to him, save for telling him the cost when the transaction was nearing its end. She just looked at him with the tired glare of someone who hated their lot in life.

  After moving the goods into their saddlebags, Lucas found a place to stable his horses and carried the bags down to the widow’s house. The stable boy had been an eager lad, especially when he saw that Lucas was willing to pay extra for a guarantee that his animals would be well cared for.

  Lucas had expected to find an old crone opening the door at the widow’s house but he got the exact opposite: the widow was about his sister’s age and looked as fresh as a newly opened flower. She had creamy, milk-white skin and dark hair. Her shoulders were exposed in the black dress she wore and beneath the cloth folds he could tell that she had a pleasing shape, with the proper amount of padding in the right places.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, her eyes widening a bit at his scarred visage.

  Lucas reached up and removed his hat, holding it against his chest. “Sorry to bother you, miss, but my sister and I need a place to rest our heads. I was told you might have a couple of rooms?”

  “Oh, don’t call me miss... the name is Wilma. And you’d be welcome to look at the rooms to see if they’d suit your needs.”

  “I’m sure they will. As long as we’ve got a roof over our heads and a basin for my sister to bathe with, we’ll be right as rain.”

  Wilma smiled and Lucas felt an unfamiliar stirring. It wasn’t simple lust – he felt that as often as any man and slaked his lusts with those in the carnal profession. This was the kind of feeling that he used to get as a boy, when the older girls would walk past and occasionally look in his direction. His mother had called it “being smitten” and Lucas recalled the term now with perfect clarity.

  “Do you have a name, Mr.—?”

  “Lucas. And my sister is Nancy. She’s a woman of God and we’re traveling together, bringing God’s word to those who need it most.”

  Wilma stepped aside so Lucas could enter and she shut the door behind him. “That sounds wonderful. She’s lucky to have a brother who would assist her like that.”

  Lucas looked around at the simple furnishings. He knew it wasn’t perfectly proper but he found himself asking, “Might I ask what happened to the man of the house?”

  “My husband was killed after being thrown from a horse. The fall broke his neck.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. Did it happen long ago?”

  “Almost a year. We didn’t have much money set aside so I’ve taken to renting the extra rooms. We’d planned on having a big family so we built more house than we really needed.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find someone else,” Lucas said, his eyes shining. “Can’t be a lack of suitors for a woman like you.”

  The blush that spread across Wilma’s features was obvious, even in the dim lighting of the house. “I’m still in mourning,” she said, though the words lacked conviction. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the two rooms I have available.”

  Nancy was well aware of any change in her brother’s demeanor, so she immediately noticed that something was different about him when he returned for her. As he led her to the widow’s house, she a
sked him, “Did something happen while you were away?”

  Lucas looked uncharacteristically pensive as he responded, “I got us the supplies we’ve been needing and found a good place to put the horses for the night.”

  “And?”

  “Met the widow. You’ll like her. She says she’ll cook dinner for us tonight. Says she likes to have an excuse to make something special. Since her husband died, there hasn’t been much call for such around her place.”

  Nancy caught the change in his voice as he spoke about the widow and she frowned slightly. “Did this woman try to put her wiles on you?”

  Lucas stopped in the street and stared at her. “Where in the hell did you get that?”

  “A woman can sense these things.”

  “She didn’t try to put any wiles on me,” Lucas said with a shake of his head. “She’s a good-natured woman and it’s been awhile since we found anybody we could say that about.”

  Nancy adjusted her habit, her lips thinning into a straight line. She followed her brother to the widow’s house and though her eyes widened slightly, she tried to be as expressionless as possible when the widow introduced herself. She wore black, which was appropriate for one in mourning, but the way she showed off her shoulders was the obvious mark of a harlot.

  Lucas, being a man, had obviously not picked up on the dangers that were now presenting themselves. “Wilma, this is my sister, Nancy. She’s real anxious to get herself cleaned up.”

  Wilma laughed. “I can imagine. Sister, your room is right here. I’ve laid out some towels for you and I can fetch you some of my spare clothes if you like. They may not fit perfectly but it’ll give me a chance to wash yours for you.”